


Somniloquy

by MsLadySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling Asleep At Work, Gen, M/M, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, Overworked and Underpaid, Sleep-talkers Never Lie, talking in his sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/MsLadySmith
Summary: Inspired by the Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompt "Dream"





	Somniloquy

Greg sighed, staring at the mountain of paperwork on his desk.  It never seemed to get smaller, no matter how fast he worked.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do with my time,” he mumbled to himself as he dove into the next file. 

* * *

Sally poked her head into his office.  “Knock, knock, boss,” she began.  “Need some coffee?” She held out a mug of coffee.

“God, yes.  Bring that over here,” he smiled at his sergeant.  She walked over to his desk and found a clear spot, setting the mug down, and taking the seat across from him.

“You’re here awfully late, Sally,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee.  He glanced at the clock on his wall – 9:48pm.  _No wonder this coffee is so good… I’m exhausted._  

She shrugged.  “I stopped off at Tesco to pick up a few things and was on my way home afterward when I realized I forgot my housekeys in my desk, so I came back.  I saw your office light on, so I grabbed a coffee on the way up.  Are you going to be stuck here all weekend with this crap?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Probably.  You know how the chief is…” Greg shrugged helplessly.  The new DCI was a serious pain in his arse, with his demands, but Greg would be damned if he’d let the man make him feel bad.

“Well, I can help with some of it.  I’ve got nothing better to do this weekend,” Sally offered.  “I can meet you here at 8am, if that suits.”

“Sure, Sal – that’d be great.  Every little bit helps,” he grinned at her.  At least he’d have someone to chat with, if nothing else.

Sally rose from the chair and headed for his office door.  “See you in the morning, then.”

“See you then!”  he replied, as he picked up the next file.

* * *

Mycroft sat quietly at the desk in his study, reviewing the paperwork for tomorrow’s conference call, when Anthea walked in wearily with another cup of tea for him shortly after 11pm.  “Thank you, my dear,” he nodded quietly.  “You should really go home, or at least avail yourself of the guest room.”

“I will sleep when you do, Mr. Holmes,” she smiled softy. 

He raised an eyebrow.  “Now that hardly seems reasonable.  Go on – you need your beauty sleep.”

“As do you.  You’re just too stubborn to realize it.” Her eyes flashed.

“Really, now?  Who would have any interest in me being beautiful?”

Anthea leaned in and tapped a few keys on his laptop, bringing up the surveillance camera footage from NSY.  There, in black and white, the camera pointing at Detective Inspector Lestrade’s open office door showed the police officer hard at work, poring over a stack of files on his desk. 

Mycroft turned red to his ears. 

With a quiet smile, she handed him her car keys.  “Unlike us, your driver is soundly asleep in his flat with his wife.  Take my car - it’s parked around back.” She pressed the keys into his hands.  “Go.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Mycroft rose to his feet and walked out of the study, grabbing his coat and umbrella as he left the house.

* * *

It was well past midnight according to the clock when Greg closed that file and tucked it into the ‘complete’ stack.  He stood, his legs protesting the change in position, and stretched with a mighty yawn.  “Maybe one more,” he said aloud to no one in particular.  “But first, more coffee.”  He headed down the hall to the vending machine to get another cup of crap coffee.

Returning to his office after walking the halls to stretch his legs and let his eyes rest from hours of trying to decipher Anderson’s sloppy handwriting, he grabbed the next case file and flopped onto the sofa in his office. 

Opening the file, he sighed heavily.  The Grimshaw Antiques case.  This case was particularly ugly.  Not only was he dealing with the burglary of an antique shop, the shopkeeper had stumbled onto the scene mid-crime and ended up getting beaten to a pulp.  While still in the hospital, the man refused to say who had done it – some type of misguided loyalty was keeping him from doing so, Sherlock claimed. 

Sherlock, of course, had annoyed the DCI enough to nearly end up in a cell himself – it had taken Greg and John a fair amount of fast talking to change the DCI’s mind.

Greg put his feet up and leaned back on the sofa as he perused the file, not really noticing as his eyelids started getting heavier.  He rubbed his tired eyes, then closed them in an effort to alleviate the dryness if only for a moment.  His head tipped back, and he dozed off, the open file still in his lap.

* * *

_\--*--*--*-- The Dream --*--*--*--_

Greg opened his eyes to find himself standing in the back office of Grimshaw’s Antiques, Sherlock Holmes beside him.  “What are you doing?” Greg snarled at the tall detective.

“I just came for a quick visit,” Sherlock said.  “I thought you might appreciate it, after dealing with my brother.”  A pair of verdigris eyes stared at him.

“Your brother isn’t all that bad, you know,” Greg smiled, leaning against the desk.  “I bet Myc’s a big softie.”

Sherlock snorted derisively.  “Obviously, you don’t know him as I do.”

“Maybe I’d like to get to know him better,” Greg said offhandedly.

Sherlock eyed him carefully.  “Lestrade, perhaps you should lie down,” he said with concern in a voice not his own.  _Why does Sherlock sound like his brother?_

He turned and saw a dark grey velvet chaise against the wall.  “Yeah, sure,” Greg mumbled, moving to stretch out on it.

* * *

Mycroft entered the quiet department, walking toward Lestrade’s office.  “Hello…” he announced himself quietly, not wanting to break the silence.  As he got closer to Greg’s open door, he heard a grating sound.  Reaching the doorway, he saw Greg, snoring, sound asleep on the sofa, a file open on his lap and papers scattered on the floor in front of him. 

Shaking his head with a small smile, Mycroft leaned his umbrella by the chair and gets to his knees, gathering up the assortment of paperwork and returning it to the file, which he carefully takes from Lestrade’s lap and sets on the desk.  The sleepy form shifts but does not wake.

“You work too hard,” Mycroft said in a soft voice.  “I suffer the same affliction.  I am slowly learning, however, that when one doesn’t take time for oneself, work will suffer,” he whispered, as he takes a seat on the sofa beside the Detective Inspector.

“What’re you doing…” Greg mumbled sleepily. 

Mycroft glanced at him – he was still asleep.  He gently stroked the detective’s hand.  “I just came for a quick visit.  I thought you might appreciate it, after dealing with my brother.”

“… like your brother…”

Mycroft huffed.  “Obviously, you don’t know him as I do.” 

Greg continued.  “Bet Myc’s a big softie… like to know him better…”

Greg’s somniloquy was surprising, to say the least. 

“Perhaps you should lie down, Lestrade,” Mycroft said quietly with an arm around Lestrade’s shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” Greg mumbled, stretching out on the sofa, curling up against Mycroft’s grey suit. 

The elder Holmes spent a fair portion of the evening just watching Greg sleep in his lap this way, running his fingers through the soft silver hair. 

As the light of day began to peek over the horizon, Mycroft carefully slid off the sofa, replacing his lap with a pillow under Greg’s head.  He found a throw blanket on a shelf and laid it carefully over the man’s sleeping form and quietly left the office unseen.

* * *

“Boss, wake up,” came Sally’s voice as she gently shook his shoulder.  As promised, she’d arrived at 8am this morning, to find the office empty except for Greg stretched out on his office sofa, curled up under a throw blanket.  The case file lay neatly on the edge of this desk.

“Mmmf?” Greg mumbled, slowly opening his eyes.  “What time is it?”

“Saturday morning.  We had some files to work on, remember?”

“Shit, I must’ve dozed off.” He looked down at the throw covering him.  “Where did this come from?” he eyed her suspiciously.

“No idea.  You were all tucked in when I got here,” Sally shrugged.  “Want me to go get us some coffee?”

“Erm, yeah… sure… sounds great,” came his reply, and Sally left the office.  _Trust Sally to go for decent coffee, too – not that flavored tar from the vending machine._  

He swung his feet to the floor and stood up, neatly laying the throw across the back of the sofa.

“I gotta stop drinking that crap coffee so late… gives me the weirdest dreams,” Greg mumbled to himself, scrubbing his hands over his face.  Suddenly his eyes were drawn to the chair in front of his desk… where a black umbrella stood innocently. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a text alert on his phone.  Still staring at the umbrella, he pulls the phone out and checks the message.

_Good morning, Detective Inspector.  It seems I may have left my umbrella in your office yesterday.  Perhaps I can meet you for lunch to retrieve it? -MH_

Still half-asleep and more than a bit confused, Greg responded to the text.   _Sure, Mr. Holmes.  Meet me at the Yard at noon?_

The reply was immediate.   _Certainly.  Also, are you aware you talk in your sleep? -MH_

Greg was suddenly wide awake.  "Oh, god... what did I say?  And how long was he here?  I don't even remember him coming in..." Greg mumbled to himself in a panic.  His phone pinged again.

_Consider this your chance to get to know this 'big softie' better. -MH_


End file.
